


These Are The Days Of Our Lives

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Dyslexia, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens), hand holding, old married couple already, the them are students, they're in love but they're also morons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: Everything was fine, tickety-boo, as Aziraphale said. And Crowley knew that because he saw him every day, not because he loved him. Because he didn’t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! I'm just dropping this Teachers!AU because I love teachers being in love, and Aziraphale & Crowley. I will be having a great deal of fun with this, so I hope you will too. If you have any suggestions for future chapters, don't hesitate, I'm here for that too!  
> Oh yes, title by Queen. All chapters titles will be by Queen. Because it's Queen, and I now have a good reason to do that!

Sometimes, Crowley caught himself staring at Aziraphale. He would watch him do something mundane. Making tea, reading, napping, smiling kindly at some sheets his students had turned in. It was always a gentle smile.

Aziraphale would do this perfectly normal and natural thing, and Crowley would just look at him. He would take in his beautiful white-blonde curls, would wonder at how precise his hands were in any work he achieved, would stare at his chest rising and falling as he breathed calmly, always wearing the same outdated outfit, would lose himself into his hazel eyes and the immense kindness they reflected – with just a touch of mischief, that only Crowley could decipher.

Although they had known each other since the beginning, Crowley always had the sudden realization that Aziraphale was truly handsome, every time he let his eyes linger on him. Which seemed to happen more and more often.

Was he to blame, though? He saw the man daily, he was bound to look at him properly sometimes. Did he absolutely have to admire him each time he did so? Probably not. But then again, he wouldn’t be in love if he didn’t.

NOT in love. He was _not_ in with Aziraphale. Had never been. Ever. Had certainly not discovered his own sexuality because of Aziraphale. He sure as Hell hadn’t. Everything was fine, tickety-boo, as Aziraphale said. And he knew that because he saw him every day, not because he loved him. Because he _didn’t_.

They were _friends_. They had always been. Their parents had been, so they had been, then their parents hadn’t been anymore, but they still had been. And now they were colleagues. Platonic colleagues! Uh, well, colleagues.

Crowley had been working as a biology teacher for a year in the school before Aziraphale had arrived. They hadn’t talked since their graduations, two years prior to that, and Crowley had been planning on leaving the school for another area in London. Now he seemed to be stuck in there. Aziraphale had also confessed that he wanted to leave for another school, sometime during the first year as colleagues. That had been five years ago. They were both still very much in the school. Crowley liked to think that Aziraphale’s presence here had nothing to do with his own incapacity to leave, but even he couldn’t fool himself sometimes. Only sometimes.

But they were just friends.

That bit was clear between them. Friends.

Currently, Aziraphale was enjoying his lunch. Crowley loved watching him do that. He seemed to take so much pleasure in something as functional and simple as eating. For Crowley, it was just that, functional. He ate because he had too, and although he did enjoy some of the food Aziraphale insisted that he tried, he didn’t look at food the way Aziraphale did. He looked at it almost as if he was about to declare his deep love for it. If Crowley didn’t know better, he could think that Aziraphale was in love with food, but it wasn’t that, because he did know him – did he? Crowley wasn’t entirely sure of what Aziraphale being in love looked like.

He wasn’t sure Aziraphale had ever been in love, or dated anyone, for that matter. He hadn’t really asked, either. He wasn’t too keen on hearing about it. So he didn’t know if Aziraphale was really secretive about it, or just had never been interested. He knew for a fact that he had already kissed someone, but he had been pretty drunk that night, they both had been, and Crowley wasn’t sure he remembered. Sometimes, he thought he himself remembered wrong and had just dreamt it. They had never talked about it anyway. Crowley tried not to think about it.

“I just got off an appointment with Adam’s parents, I wish I could strangle kids sometimes.”

Aziraphale’s head shot up, looking at who had been talking, carefully whipping his mouth as he had finished his lunch. Crowley didn’t look away for a second.

“Adam’s not bad intentioned,” Aziraphale smiled.

He genuinely cared about literally anyone, especially his students. And he never talked ill about them. If at first, other teachers had tried to avoid venting when he was there, they had all quickly understood that even if he didn’t think like them, he only tried to give a positive opinion before eventually letting them vent freely.

“He has a strange way of showing his good intentions!”

“What happened this time?” Crowley asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the angelic face.

Adam’s name came up a lot in the teacher’s room. He wasn’t the worst student, but he could be a lot. He was good in almost every subject, even if he often tried to re-invent History to his liking, but he could be a pain in the ass, Crowley had to admit. He didn’t excel in biology, so he wasn’t the first to speak out in his classes – he liked to talk when he was sure about himself, and he was often sure about himself, except in biology – but Aziraphale had shared some stories, after a drink or two. It took that for him to unwind and start talking about students in less glorious terms than he usually did in presence of other teachers.

“That kid’s a tyrant,” the History teacher sighed, sitting in a chair next to Crowley and Aziraphale.

Most teachers had gone back to their classes, but they both had a few minutes left to go back to their respective classrooms.

“He just…” A noise came right from the depth of the teacher’s throat. A mix of frustration and murdering vibes. “He kept asking questions about Atlantis and aliens, I don’t even know why. And his poor parents, they apologized profusely. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

While he was talking, Aziraphale cleaned his lunch box and put it back in his bag very neatly. Crowley looked at him the whole time.

“How come he’s not like that in your class?”

It took a second for Crowley to understand he was the one the question was directed at.

“Mh?” he blinked, then shrugged. “I think he takes too much time trying to understand, so his brain doesn’t have time to create something… inaccurate.”

“See, that’s what I mean.” Crowley and the History teacher turned to Aziraphale, who was smiling softly. His teacher smile, Crowley called it, because it looked nice but also indulgent. And with the amount of crap he heard every day, he had to be indulgent. “He tries to understand. Deforming reality is his way of learning.”

“Yeah, but then he learns false facts.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, tilting his head slightly on the side. His confused face, when he was short for an answer. Crowley had spent a lot of time watching him and understanding his body language.

“As long as he doesn’t drag his comrades down in their grades…” That was a weak retort, Aziraphale knew it, the other teachers knew it too. Crowley shook his head.

“I’m wondering if he isn’t. Bringing them down, that is. I’ve read a couple of similar answers… False answers. They should follow Pepper’s example instead of Adam’s…”

“Didn’t she refuse to talk about Roald Dahl because he was an ‘anti-Semite little shit’?”

“She… did. I mean, she wasn’t wrong. I just wouldn’t have used the same wording. He was a tall man, after all.”

Crowley hid his smile at Aziraphale’s answer. When others had heard the story, they had thought he had finally been complaining about something. In truth, Aziraphale had never been prouder of a student. Pepper did a lot of research, and she usually knew a lot about authors they were talking about. Aziraphale tried to stick to a creator’s creation, but he too could have opinions about how some writers thought.

Crowley did not listen to the rest of the conversation. It often went in the same direction – Adam was a nice kid, but could be so annoying, he needed to learn self-control and keep putting his creativity into writing books rather than re-writing History, and Pepper was too mature for her own sake, sometimes. What dragged Crowley out of his reverie was Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder. He shook it off, surprised, but instantly regretted the loss of contact. His friend smiled down at him, and waved to his bag. Crowley shook his head, as if to align his brain and neurons back in place, and graciously got up, sauntering to his classroom, as the bell had rung.


	2. You and I

Crowley’s home was full of plants. Not too full, because they all had enough place to breathe and grow properly, but he had a lot of them. They were his decoration. And sometimes they were where a furniture should stand, but didn’t. He was very minimalistic. Aziraphale’s place was more furnished, although everything was covered in books. Crowley’s flat was empty and covered in plants. He took immense pride in his beautiful collection. Some had survived from his dorm room at Uni. Aziraphale remembered how cramped the place had been, but how beautiful his couple of plants had always looked. He had figured they were getting more attention and care than Crowley cared to give himself. Or dared to.

Even if it was very plain, and essentially just plants in his flat, Aziraphale had grown attached to the place. At first, it had put him off. It shouldn’t have surprised him, there never was much in Crowley’s living space, but the first time he had entered his flat, it had taken him aback. He hadn’t wanted to hang around much, then he had slowly grown accustomed to it, and maybe it wasn’t too different from what Crowley was. Simple. It was simple.

Now, Crowley was far from simple. He was a complex being, and he was clever, he certainly wasn’t simple, per se. But he kept things simple. He was honest, or he tried to, he was what he was and wasn’t hiding it, he kept interactions with people short and simple. Except with Aziraphale. They talked in length about complex subjects, and sometimes not so complex ones, like who in the name of God had put the TV remote under a pile of books. Maybe Crowley wasn’t simple. It wasn’t quite the word. He was… He was so _Crowley_ , and Aziraphale had known him for so long, that he wasn’t sure words could describe what he was to him. Or in his eyes. Or… something.

Aziraphale was supposed to be good with words, but when it came to Crowley, he seemed to have the vocabulary of a three-year-old. He could hold a conversation, yes, but if someone that wasn’t Crowley asked him about Crowley, he mostly answered with noises, mumbling, and more noises. He had a perfect explanation for it, though. But, uh, it was a secret.

Truth was, he lost coherency when thinking about Crowley. It sounded stupid, and it probably was, but Aziraphale had spent so many years with him that he was sure it was normal. He knew so many things about him, it was hard to express clear thoughts, because he had so many. Not that he constantly thought of Crowley. Although, he did, but that was because he spent all his free time with him, and his non-free time too.

Crowley’s flat. Yes. It was empty, but it was so very Crowley. Aziraphale had so many books, so little space. Like his mind. There were so many thoughts about everything. Crowley didn’t bother with so many thoughts. Or at least, he didn’t look like he did. It didn’t mean that he was dumb or didn’t question anything, quite the opposite, but Aziraphale had annoying thoughts. Thoughts that prevented him from doing things. Thoughts that told him what felt good or right, based on he-didn’t-know-what. Thoughts that had pushed him away from so many things over the years. So many things identified as “bad” by them. They had shaped his life and experiences by pulling him back. It had taken a long time for him to realize it, then to admit it to himself. He was still in the process of that. Maybe he could tell Crowley, then. But he was afraid Crowley would ask questions, such as “what haven’t you done?” He would be honest, like Crowley always was, and Aziraphale always was, to an extent, with Crowley. He would tell him random things, then he would admit. And he didn’t want to admit. It was his most precious secret. Crowley could not discover it. Aziraphale feared the consequences of it.

It was his thoughts telling him not to do something, again. But he still wasn’t ready to face this one fact. Because when he did, then Crowley would really know, and Aziraphale wasn’t even sure of what he expected.

Crowley had no books. Aziraphale liked to focus on that, to distract himself. The first time he had realized that Crowley _never_ had a book on him, as opposed to Aziraphale who _always_ had one, he had thought they wouldn’t become such great friends. Over the course of the years, it turned out that they had, despite the very frustrating lack of books in Crowley’s life. When Aziraphale had bravely accepted the self-assigned mission of giving Crowley the desire to read, Crowley had finally told him the truth – Aziraphale had never properly asked before.

If Aziraphale had never seen Crowley with any other book than the ones he had to study, it was for the simple reason that he couldn’t read. Aziraphale had been confused at this information. Crowley had quickly clarified: his sunglasses weren’t just barriers or shield – he hadn’t said that, Aziraphale had simply noticed – or even a fashion element – that, he had said. No, Crowley physically couldn’t read. Well, he could read, because he obviously had, but he had trouble concentrating on letters. It amazed Aziraphale that he had wanted to be a teacher at all, let alone actually become one. That had been back in their first year at Uni, when they had started to hang out together almost every day, and had grown used to the fact that they were always together.

When Aziraphale had found time to do so, he had carefully sat down in his comfy chair and had started to record himself, reading a book. He could have found an audiobook, but it wouldn’t have done good by Aziraphale’s standards. He wanted it to be more personal. If he had gathered enough courage to say so, he would have told Crowley that he would read him any books he ever wanted, but his mind had drawn the line at a home-made audiobook. It already was revealing too much.

When he had given it to Crowley, after weeks of hesitation, he had wanted to run. Not from embarrassment – maybe a bit, but it was only a gift to a friend, after all – but from Crowley’s reaction. It hadn’t been negative, quite the contrary. He had never seen such emotions in Crowley’s eyes. That was mainly due to the fact that Crowley wore shades all day long, but Aziraphale had caught up on his expressive face and could read his emotions quite well. Crowley had chosen to show him his eyes. His watery eyes, that spoke words Crowley couldn’t pronounce. Aziraphale had never felt so loved and cared for and looked up to than in that very moment. And he had lost himself in those peculiar and unique eyes, and that was when it had hit him.

He had known for a while. He liked spending time with Crowley more than anything in the world. He felt good, he felt like himself, he felt safe. It didn’t take a genius to realize he felt something for him. What hit him was his desire to be with Crowley. He had lived with the feelings and mostly ignored them for a while, but staring deep inside Crowley’s eyes, he had wanted to be with him. He had _needed_ to be with him.

And it had been the scariest thought and desire he had ever had. He had contemplated giving in to it. Had partly succeeded. But his mind had caught up, and he had eventually fled. He hated himself for that. And in ten years, he hadn’t mentioned it once, he had never dared to. Even after he had accepted that part of him – the part that fancied, that _loved_ , Crowley to a scary extent – he had never gathered the courage to tell the truth. Crowley showed him in more than one way that maybe he loved him back, but Aziraphale was never sure, or he didn’t want to be. He felt great being long-time friends with Crowley, maybe he didn’t need more.

“You okay, angel?”

 _Angel_. Aziraphale had identified this as one of the ways Crowley showed his affection. He would never put actual words to his feelings, but it was sentences and gestures and lost smiles. Aziraphale spotted them more and more, maybe because he was looking for them more and more. “Angel” was linked to his name, and the fact that his whole family was straight-up named after biblical Angels, but Crowley had never called his siblings “angel”. Only Aziraphale was “angel”, and he secretly loved it. He felt important, when Crowley called him that, and he often called him that.

“Yes, my dear, sorry.” And Aziraphale called him “my dear”, almost automatically.

He had realized long ago that they acted like an old-married couple. He had never told Crowley, though.

“Lost the page?” Crowley offered, one eyebrow up in question.

Aziraphale smiled. He had been reading to Crowley for a while now, both of them lying on Crowley’s couch. He cherished those moments. He could read and spend time with Crowley, and read to Crowley. Those were his two favourite things and he was so grateful that he could combine them. He had been immensely relieved that Crowley genuinely liked books, but just couldn’t focus on reading full novels. It had allowed them to spend even more time together, as Aziraphale had been self-assigned a new mission. His goal had been to read a book a month with Crowley. They had stopped after Uni, when they hadn’t talked for two long years. But when Aziraphale had started teaching at the same school as Crowley, they had fallen back into old habits, and had instantly found time to complete one book each month. Even more, now, because Aziraphale used that excuse to hang around Crowley’s flat almost every day, and they were going through books quickly.

“Food for thoughts?” Crowley said, almost in a whisper, when only silence answered his previous intervention.

By the way he was lying against him, Aziraphale could feel he was falling asleep. He smiled softly, and started reading again, not sharing his thoughts. He could not. Maybe one day.

Crowley listened for a while, then his head tilted and Aziraphale put the book down, with a home-made bookmark that Crowley had gifted to him and that he treasured. Another one of his gestures.

It was rare for them not to fall asleep like that. Neither had ever mentioned it, but both assumed the other was fine with it. They didn’t _talk_ about these things. They tested the water, saw if the others complained or showed a sign of resistance, and if not, they settled into a new routine. This was Aziraphale’s favourite, so far. The “angel” name was sweet and warmed his heart, yes, but this… This was different. He couldn’t picture anyone else to do that with. He wouldn’t read hours and hours and books and books to just anyone. And he wouldn’t let just anyone fall asleep on him, like Crowley did. In all his sloppiness, Crowley actually fell asleep in a small position. He often turned on his left side – against the couch, or against Aziraphale’s stomach if he had been listening with his head on his lap – brought his hands up against his chest, and fell asleep. His muscles relaxed and his breath evened and Aziraphale simply watched him sleep. If Aziraphale was sitting on the other side of his usual seat, Crowley would still lie on his left side, his back turned on his friend, so he had stopped sitting anywhere else than in his usual seat.

Some would argue that it wasn’t the most pleasant position to sleep in, especially for Aziraphale, but he always woke up in the middle of the night to find Crowley missing, a blanket on him and a pillow under his head. He had gotten used to sleeping on Crowley’s couch. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the comfort of a bed, but the couch was very comfortable anyway, and they were his favourite moments, he wasn’t going to sacrifice them to sleep on something more comfortable.

Sleeping with Crowley was comfortable, Aziraphale thought as he dozed off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reading to Crowley is inspired by [this post on Tumblr](https://fightmelikeagirl.tumblr.com/post/185943630286/its-not-that-crowley-cant-read-he-can-for-a).


	3. Friends Will Be Friends

Crowley was walking in the street when he heard his name being called. Crowley wasn’t a usual name, so there wasn’t much doubt that someone was calling him. The thing was, he didn’t know a lot of people. Not a lot that would call him across the street, begging him to wait, at least. He had to do his grocery shopping, because Aziraphale was coming and Crowley wanted to cook something, but he had realized very late on that his cupboards were empty. Sometimes, being too minimalist was just a tad too much.

With that in mind, it seemed natural for Crowley to ignore the person who desperately wanted to talk to him. Odds were that the feeling wasn’t mutual. But he knew the voice, and after four times, people were staring at him as if they had clearly identified him as the source of the annoying noise. It was partly his fault; the person would stop screaming across the street if he would just stop and turn. So, he eventually did. Right when the person had caught up with him, which resulted in them colliding into each other.

It didn’t take long for Crowley to recognize the clumsy man finding his balance again. Apparently, he was still as clumsy as before.

“Newton?”

“Yes! Crowley! Hi! You must have been listening to music, I was calling you…”

“Oh, I heard you,” Crowley answered before Newton would start one of his rambles. He rambled, _a lot_.

“Cool. Anyway! Fancy meeting you here.”

Oh, this was about to be very awkward, wasn’t it? Crowley put this thought aside and tried a smile.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, not since—”

“Uni! Graduation day! We didn’t really keep in touch. I wasn’t expecting you to do so, to be honest. How have you been? Scared any child with your plantamania yet?”

“That’s not how—” Crowley started, then gave up. They’d had this conversation over and over, and Newton persisted in calling that plantamania, because he liked the word. “I’m doing great, what about you?”

“Computers are still not agreeing with me…”

“You’re still working in that?”

“Of course! Only now I advise people, so I’m not _technically_ touching the computers. Found my way around it.”

Crowley scoffed. Newton had always been particularly unlucky when it came to computers. He loved them, he understood them, he was great at them, but they didn’t want him near them. There was always something wrong, as soon as his fingers touched a keyboard. But he was passionate about them anyway, which had always sounded odd to Crowley, but who was he to judge?

“And I’m married now,” Newton added, showing his ring proudly. “We thought about inviting you, but Anathema said you wouldn’t come anyway, and she’s always right so… I hope you don’t mind. We thought about you, though!”

“You _married_ Anathema?” Crowley asked, surprised, to say the least.

They had been a chaotic couple. Not that they argued or anything, they had actually been really sweet and all, but individually they already presented chaotic characteristics, so when they came together, it was… a lot of weird stuff happening. Crowley had thought they wouldn’t survive real life as a couple, but apparently their dynamic had worked well, because Newton seemed very happy to be married. And Anathema too. Even if Crowley couldn’t see it, he knew she would have left long ago if she hadn’t been happy.

They had all met in First Year, through a social meeting – one of the rare Crowley had gone to. After artificial and very bad icebreakers, the four of them – Aziraphale was the reason why Crowley was there – talked and laughed. Even if none was in the same degree, they stayed close together as a small group. They didn’t see each other every day, but they often gathered and liked each other’s presence. As Crowley knew Aziraphale already, he had never really needed anyone else in his life, and thus had never been the closest to anyone. He had very much enjoyed discussing with Anathema, though.

Newton and she had started dating somewhere during Year Two. It had been a surprise for no one, except Newton himself, maybe. To be fair, she was a very beautiful woman and Newton had a low self-esteem. Crowley could relate.

“Of course!” Newton said, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts. “How about Aziraphale?”

Bold of him to assume that Crowley still talked to anyone from Uni. But then again, Aziraphale wasn’t from Uni, but way before, so it was only natural that he still talked to him. Well, he had stopped talking to him after Uni, so he hadn’t been an exception back then – it wasn’t true, he had always been an exception.

“We work together now,” Crowley smiled. How small the world was, sometimes.

“Oh, is that right? It must be useful!” Newton seemed excited, and Crowley couldn’t see how useful it was.

“Sure. We do hang out a lot.”

“I wish I worked with Anathema.”

Something definitely sounded wrong. Crowley’s guts told him that the conversation wasn’t going in the way he wanted. He ignored the feeling.

“Are you sure?” he asked, instead. Nobody wanted to work with their partners, right? That meant no break from that person, surely it would be weird to see each other constantly.

“Is it not going well with Aziraphale?” Newton looked almost apologetic. Crowley was starting to lose the point of the conversation.

“It is, but it’s not like we’re married,” he shrugged.

“Do you guys want to get married?” Newton asked, as if the question had been in his mind for years. “You’ve been together for a while, now.”

“Not really,” Crowley answered before the rest of the sentence sent signals and alarms up his brain. “Sorry, what?” he thought he asked. It might have sounded more like “Uh, I- whu—“, though. He couldn’t be sure.

Newton looked puzzled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something awkward,” he quickly said.

“Wh-why would we be married?” It’s not that Crowley didn’t like the sound of that. But that was absurd. Why would anyone think that?

“That’s what couples do, I guess. I mean, not that every couple has to get married, but it’s just, you know, part of it, I guess? Maybe you guys aren’t into it, I mean…” The man was digging his grave by now. Crowley wasn’t even listening.

“C-c-couples? I’m not—we’re not…”

“Oh f—sorry! My bad, I thought you said… I’m sorry, what happened? You guys were so close? Oh, it must be awkward then, working together…”

“We’ve never been…” Crowley flailed his arms for a bit, then finally managed to get the word out, “a couple.” He almost whispered it, as if saying it might curse him. Or jinx the possibility of it being true. But why was someone thinking they were together?!

There was a silence. Then a profusion of excuses that gradually formed sentences.

“I thought you were… oh, my bad… But, I mean, everyone just figured you guys were together, back at Uni.” And then more excuses and ramble.

“What do you mean, _everyone_ thought we were together?” Crowley asked, suddenly very, _very_ intrigued. How had no one ever said anything?

“Yeah,” Newton frowned, as if he was the one not quite grasping the point of the conversation, now. “We went on double dates!”

“Those were _dates?!_ ” Crowley exclaimed. Oh, how his perspectives on a lot of lunches were changing suddenly. He wished he had known that. He didn’t know what that would have changed, but maybe…

“We just thought you guys weren’t much for PDAs. I mean, you did call him ‘angel’ all the time.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how he could still hold a conversation, but he was doing exactly that. “That’s… That’s a nickname. Because of his name.”

“That’s a term of endearment.”

“It’s not!”

“Who else do you call ‘angel’?”

“Well—uh… No one, but that’s because they’re not named after an actual angel.” Now, that wasn’t quite true, but Newton had never met Aziraphale’s family, so he didn’t need to know that.

“Sorry, but everyone thought you two were together… And we all thought you were adorable.”

Filing that last bit of information away, Crowley focused on not reddening – even if his cheeks felt very warm, suddenly – and on what Newton was suggesting. “Who’s everyone, anyway? We didn’t talk to many students…”

“Oh.” Another silence. Crowley started to dislike those silences, which seemed to come before life-changing statements. “Literally anyone that knew the nerd from the library? Aziraphale got quite the reputation for staying up late, being always there, with the most impressive pile of books that he would borrow and give back in a record time… Only to borrow all of them again, setting up other kinds of records…”

“So, everyone that walked in the damn library?”

“And more. People talk. Especially when there’re gossips about the tall, handsome man that is the only thing that seems to matter to the nerd, except his beloved books.”

Crowley was speechless. Not even for a deconstructed speech. He remembered being in the library a lot, to drag his friend’s arse out of the damned place. Sometimes, it was to drag himself away from studying too much. He had never spent as much time as Aziraphale on books – who had? – but he had been studying hard, nonetheless. His eyes wouldn’t let him work so long on books, anyway. So breaks from learning anything that his brain agreed on swallowing were welcomed, and always called for Aziraphale to be here. Because it was Aziraphale. And Crowley enjoyed his presence. It smoothed him.

To know that people, that _everyone_ , thought of them as a cute couple, was weird. Disturbing and weird. But oddly comforting.


	4. Breakthru

Crowley sighed in his pile of papers, then put them down with a frustrated grunt. He hadn’t slept at all the night before. Aziraphale had been the one to fall asleep while reading. Crowley had carefully taken the book out of his hands, marked the page and put it down. Aziraphale would never forgive him if he let him drop the book. And he didn’t want to upset him. Certainly not with his mind burning with thoughts of him. He wished he had never bumped into Newton.

He kept thinking about… everything Newton had told him. It wasn’t doing any good to his brain. He was tired and was grateful for his shades to hide at least that. He needed a coffee, he thought as he downed his cold one in one gulp. He grimaced and got back to work. Or tried to.

He was late in his gradings, and he wished he didn’t have to do that. But he had already gone past his personal deadline to hand back a work. As much as it pained him to admit it, he cared about those kids, and he didn’t want them to have a good excuse to behave like idiots in his class. If he couldn’t respect his own deadlines – which were already longer than most of his co-workers – it was worrying. He didn’t want to be _that_ teacher. He was contemplating the idea of not going to his last class at all to instead go lie down on his bed and sleep. Or on his couch. Maybe it still smelt like Aziraphale.

A coffee appeared in front of his face and startled him. Aziraphale, who was handing him the cup, smiled and moved behind him.

“Still haven’t finished those?” he asked, leaning over Crowley to read.

Crowley leaned on the table at the same time, just so his bloody chest wouldn’t touch his back or his head, but Aziraphale kept on leaning, because Crowley’s head was getting in the way. Crowley stiffened suddenly when his friend put a hand on the table, so he wouldn’t fall, but happened to put his hand slightly over Crowley’s. He looked at their hands as if they would catch on fire at any given moment. Crowley was sure they could.

Crowley _felt_ Aziraphale breathing down his neck, and he wanted to turn and kiss him so badly. But he couldn’t. Aziraphale didn’t want that. Crowley hadn’t felt this way about someone – about Aziraphale – for a long time, but the need to be with him had come back full strength, all of it because of stupid Newton and his stupid truth and his stupid speech about how they’d make a great couple, and his stupid apologies, and his stupid tap on the shoulder, and his stupid face, and the stupid fact that he was stupidly right.

“No, I’m done!” Crowley said suddenly, gathering everything and getting up with a huge effort to ignore the way his body brushed Aziraphale’s. “I- uh- need to go check my classroom, before… for—stuff. Thanks for the coffee!” He grabbed the cup in his flight, hissing when the burning water protested his rushed gestures and landed on his hand.

He sighed once he was out the teachers’ room, and walked to his classroom, until he remembered that there always was another teacher before him at this hour. He grumbled and walked back towards the teachers’ room, then avoided it, then walked outside and waved at other teachers with no pretend smile. He was tired, he didn’t want to pretend. He didn’t have the reputation of being a nice guy, anyway. He still was polite, though. The two were compatible.

He finally settled for a short walk in the streets, feeling it would help him calm down. Or help him think.

The entire night had been enough for him to accept his feelings, for the second time in his life. He had never denied them – well, wasn’t that a nice lie – but because Aziraphale hadn’t been ready, he had chosen to bury them. It was easier to pretend he didn’t love him, rather than painfully remind himself that Aziraphale wasn’t ready – to be in love, to be in love with a man, to be in love with a friend, to be in love with Crowley, that Crowley didn’t know and hadn’t asked.

As he paced in a quiet street, he mumbled to himself, a proof of his undeniably mad mind. Or of his lack of sleep, maybe.

“Can’t just go ‘Hey, angel, I ssstill love you, please love me too?’ obviously… Gaah, and ‘angel’? So, what? ‘Hey, Aziraphale—’ No, not ‘Aziraphale’… ‘Heyyy Az’… Nope, can’t do that. ‘Zira’? Ugh, come on. ‘Heyy, youu’… What am I even doing?! Should I say something? What should I say? ‘Hullo, should we go on a date already?’ Yeah, sure, that’ll work. Will he even understand? ‘Hey, I want to bloody kissss you, is that alright?’ Now, that’s clear, but that’s ssso bad…”

He growled in his palms, then ran his hands through his hair.

“It’s a bit straightforward.”

Crowley’s head snapped up, his shades in a weird position on his nose, but still hiding his eyes and his exhaustion. With horror – and blurrily – Crowley looked at the four children in front of him. Just what he needed, kids outside of school. Kids telling him that… Kids… Kids that had heard what he was saying, or at least some of it. Hopefully not all. Hopefully not a name. Oh, he was fucked.

“I-I’m… I was just…” Crowley scoffed, straightening his glasses to give him just a second to think. “I was rehearsing a play!” Brilliant!

“And you’re playing a snake?” Adam Young asked with a smile. Of course, it had to be the Them, or it would have been too easy, right.

“What? Why a snake?” His tattoo, maybe, but he tried to forget he had done that. It had been a mistake – not the tattoo itself, but the fact that it was on his face. Everyone made mistakes. Especially when drunk. That was a story the Them did not need to know.

“You’re hissssing like one,” Pepper said, mimicking his hissing at the perfection, to be fair.

“I’m still… figuring out the character,” Crowley continued lying.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” Wensleydale asked, which earned a glare from Pepper and Adam.

“Or the lucky boy,” Pepper added, shrugging.

Okay, so they had heard _some_ of it. “Look, kids, it’s great that you are open-minded and all, but really, I’m just trying to rehearse before class.”

“Are you planning on acting the scene in class?” Adam asked, his curiosity visibly peaked. He _wanted_ Crowley to ridicule himself, it felt like.

“Yeah, right,” Crowley chuckled, then frowned. “No, I’m not!” You never knew, with those kids, you always had to clarify. “Aren’t you late for class?”

“Aren’t _you_ late for class?” Adam grinned, turning in the direction of the school.

Crowley gaped at them. Even for him, they looked scary. They were not mean or bad people, really, but they still were known in the school because they had always been together, they had always been four, and nobody could seem to penetrate their little group. They were closer than any other group of students Crowley had ever seen. It was something about them… Maybe Adam, possibly Adam. He looked like a fearless leader, or better, a fearless tyrant, like the History teacher liked to rightfully put it. Adam wasn’t bad, it had been established, but the rest of the Them seemed to be listening to him as if he were the messiah, and that in itself felt odd, sometimes.

Crowley shook his head. Who had time to think about an innocent group of students, when he was running late to his class? His class that he had, with the Them, among others. The Them, who had not believed a single word he had said – he had read it on their faces. The Them, who would be looking at him, the five of them knowing exactly what had happened right before class. They would think him mad, pacing in a street, saying dumb stuff to himself. And he hadn’t even gotten further than where he had been before! He just prayed that they hadn’t heard a name, _his_ name.


	5. You're My Best Friend

“Is there something wrong, Brian?” Aziraphale asked with all the caution in the world.

Brian was a terribly shy kid in English class, he didn’t participate much, but he showed an interest in Literature, and Aziraphale was always here to help his students. Brian looked nervous, holding his schoolbook close to his chest.

“I-uh…” Brian pursed his lips and looked away as he handed something to Aziraphale, his cheeks reddening. “You said we could give you… er… things we wrote… I know Adam gave you his-his short story about the cowboys and stuff, and it’s nothing… it’s nothing like that, but I- I wrote something.”

Aziraphale thought that Brian bowed, as he was handing his writing. It made him smile softly, and he quickly took the paper to relieve him of it. Brian’s shoulders instantly relaxed and he glanced shyly at his teacher.

“Thank you. How long have you been writing for?” Aziraphale asked, taking a quick look at the couple of pages he was now holding.

“Not long. I… I used to write, but then it was hard, what with—you know. Could you… Could you thank Mr. Crowley, too? He’s not our English teacher, so I didn’t know if he wanted to see that, but… It helps to have a teacher like you.” Brian was positively stretching his shirt by playing with it under the stress.

Aziraphale’s smile widened even more. Brian was dyslexic, and struggled with writing a lot, but Aziraphale’d had not idea that he was an aspiring writer. It filled him with a sudden pride and joy, as if his own kid had just invented electricity. Crowley had explained to him that he always told the truth about his sight when he had new students. Some of them unconsciously hid behind a barrier, because even if they were being supported, they rarely had role models. Now, Crowley had never said he was a role model, he didn’t really want this responsibility, but he was aware that an adult – a teacher – presenting similarities with kids that could feel uncomfortable with something they had no control over could help a great deal. That, and he would get questions about his sunglasses anyway, so he was better off warning everyone.

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know that.”

Brian smiled, relief washing over him again. He promptly left the room, holding his schoolbook close to his chest. Aziraphale rushed to the teachers’ room. Crowley had behaved oddly recently, but Aziraphale thought they could ignore that for something as important as this.

And, when he barged into the teachers’ room, finding Crowley yet again grading some papers, he tried not to slam the precious sheets on the table. The room was empty, Aziraphale had time to register this, right before all his intention was drawn to his hand. He had chosen to let go of the paper, because he didn’t want to accidentally fold it with a sudden movement and had put his hand on the table beside.

It was as if their hands were drawn to each other, lately. They kept touching lightly, brushing the other’s fingers and hands… And each time, it put a stop to anything Aziraphale was thinking or saying. His brain just couldn’t focus on anything else than their hands being so close together.

It wasn’t fair, he thought. He had missed his shot with Crowley, even if he still could decide to be honest to him, and see how it went. But it was scary, to reveal one’s deepest feelings like that. It wasn’t like he had ever done it, too. And he just couldn’t find the right time to address the subject of “oh, by the way, I feel some attraction to you, but let’s ignore that, I just needed you to know.”

Aziraphale’s mind managed to catch up with the fact that someone had just entered the room, so he magically found his talking abilities again.

“Brian wrote that,” he very quickly got out, without breathing – he had stopped breathing some long seconds ago.

He did not move his hand. Now that other teachers were here, it would look weird to suddenly move his hand away, right? Crowley did not move either. If anything, he gave in the touch, relaxing a bit.

“Sorry, what?” Crowley eventually asked.

Aziraphale decided to breathe again – or rather, his body ordered him to do so – and blinked a few times.

“Brian gave me this after class. He said he’d written it, and wanted to thank you. Crowley, you inspire him so much, you should read it and tell him.”

“The Them’s Brian?” Crowley asked, looking a bit uneasy. That was new and weird.

“Yes, that Brian,” Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley stared at the writing for a moment, then looked up, confused. “Wait, why me? It’s not like I write or anything.”

“You don’t need to be a writer to inspire a student. What about tonight? I’ll fix us dinner, and I can read it to you?”

To his surprise, Crowley nodded. He had refused the past couple of days, which had unsettled Aziraphale, even if he had said nothing. He meant to ask Crowley what was wrong, but he didn’t want to push him. He always talked when he felt like it, he knew he could trust Aziraphale with anything. More than that, he knew he never was a bother to him. It had taken some time to build this concept in Crowley’s mind, as if the idea of someone always at the ready to listen to him was absurd, while he himself didn’t seem to question his constant presence for Aziraphale, in any situation.

* * *

Aziraphale’s flat was his little Heaven on Earth. It was at least as sacred as that. His already astronomic collection of books – a family heirloom – kept on growing, and growing… He was amazed himself at how much space he still had for new incomers.

He always loved to stare at people entering his own paradise, even if not many had actually come to his flat. Come to think of it, he simply loved to stare at Crowley every time he came because, somehow, it always surprised him and made his eyes sparkle with satisfaction and amazement. Aziraphale understood, he lived here, and he still took his time to admire the impressive collection.

The kitchen, alongside with the bathroom, was the only room without a single book in it. Well, there were cooking books, and maybe he sometimes left a hard copy on the counter, but generally, there wasn’t any book in here. He didn’t want to take useless risks. He had a plant in the kitchen, though. Courtesy of Crowley, who had thought that it would look good and lively. Aziraphale took great care of it, and he smiled when Crowley would inevitably glare at it at some point when he was in the kitchen.

He was watching Aziraphale cook, not losing any second of it. Aziraphale felt quite self-conscious, and he was afraid he would do something embarrassing, but he was able to finish his preparation without making a fool of himself.

It tasted delicious, according to Crowley’s own words and reactions, and Aziraphale took his time to appreciate his own dinner. Crowley simply looked at him, sipping his wine.

Much later, after a lot of talking – Crowley seemed more relaxed than he had looked in the past few days, and Aziraphale still didn’t bring the subject to the table – they were sitting on Aziraphale’s couch, Crowley not yet leaning against him. He stayed in a normal position – as normal as Crowley’s way of sitting could get – to listen carefully to Brian’s writing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening carefully usually, but it helped to be sitting.

When Aziraphale finished reading – it was a clumsy piece about two lovers that wouldn’t get together because of family, and society, and themselves, and it ended with a happily ever after that made Crowley smile – he took a moment to examine Crowley’s reaction. He was very still, but his face, despite his sunglasses, was expressive for him. He seemed to be feeling the same way Aziraphale had: he was a proud daddy.

“Thank you for inspiring those kids,” Aziraphale said, putting a careful hand on Crowley’s arm.

Crowley chose not to answer, albeit for a small smile. Sometimes, it was harder to admit that you were a good person than to pretend you didn’t care.

“I hope he’ll keep on writing,” Crowley eventually said, nodding to himself.

Aziraphale promised himself to make a thorough feedback of what he had just read to Brian. Maybe he could convince him to participate in the short-story contest Aziraphale encouraged his students to take part in every year.

They continued talking for a bit, then Aziraphale stood to put order in his flat – well, at least to do the dishes.

“I… I actually had something for you,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale was cleaning the coffee table.

“What’s that, now?” He didn’t know if he hadn’t heard, or if his brain thought he had heard wrong. He put the mugs back down on the table to listen.

Crowley was holding something, and Aziraphale realized that he had heard right. But… why?

“It’s not much… I’ve been looking around for it, finally got it yesterday. When I had my hands on it, it reminded me of… stuff. I didn’t mean to be distant, lately.”

It was as close to an apology as Crowley would go, so Aziraphale smiled reassuringly and looked down. A book, he wanted to say, but he never knew with Crowley. He was hiding the title.

A book. It was a book. More than that, it was… It was perfect. Crowley had found a first edition of _The Little Prince_ , in French.

More than it being a masterpiece, Aziraphale had a particular attachment to this book but he certainly hadn’t thought Crowley would remember. Crowley had seen him grow with this book, talking about it constantly, until Aziraphale had learnt to “just shut up a bit” – as his brother had put it – and he had moved on to quietly reading and waiting to see his grandmother to frantically talk about the latest book he had read, and listen to her talk, or read. She had been the one to introduce him to the pleasure of reading, and had patiently read him _The Little Prince_ an astonishingly lot.

And despite not having mentioned the book to Crowley in a long time – not since he had last read it to him, sometime during Uni – Crowley had bought it, for him. Crowley had _looked_ for it, for _him_.

Crowley was handing him a beautiful edition of _The Little Prince_ , and Aziraphale was speechless.

People liked to hand things to Aziraphale, apparently. He tried to focus on that, just so he would postpone his other thoughts, even for a second, as he carefully put his hands on the book. Then the curse/blessing of their hands happened again, and they touched. Shivers deliciously ran down Aziraphale’s spine, a warmth spread through his stomach, his breath left his body, and a smile instantly appeared on his mouth.

Aziraphale looked up, because he had never really seen Crowley’s face when their hands brushed against the other’s. He had his glasses on – gifting something as precious as this made him vulnerable enough, thank you very much – but they were standing so close that it did nothing to hide Crowley’s eyes. It didn’t last long, but Aziraphale thought he caught the twitch of a smile, before Crowley’s hands disappeared. Aziraphale instinctively moved closer, his hands yearning for his touch, before he caught himself and stood very still.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley said, before his friend had even time to think about thanking him.

He was too dumbstruck. It wasn’t the first time Crowley gave him something, certainly not an old book, but it felt different. It felt rarer. More emotional, too. It was… It was a declaration of love, Aziraphale decided. He was tired of finding excuses. Crowley had showed him through time that he cared, that he loved him, and Aziraphale had never been able to give in the feeling. Not entirely, at least. There always was something.

There wasn’t, anymore. As Crowley kept looking at the ground, his hands casually stuffed in his tiny pockets – he really ought to check pockets size before buying trousers – Aziraphale took a deep breath. He was ready, he thought. He wanted to be ready. Surely, he could only be ready. Yet, the words didn’t want to come out.

“Wow, look at the time! I’ll see you tomorrow, angel.”

_Huh?_

Crowley froze in his fleeing panic when he heard himself call Aziraphale the way he always did, but he shook the thought and disappeared before Aziraphale could do anything. He stared at the door, as if Crowley would open it back, barge in the room, tell him what he had on his mind… Aziraphale wished he would. Or maybe he wished he could be the one running after him, calling him back, thanking him – because he hadn’t even thanked him! – and telling him that it was okay. That he had caught up to his speed.

Had he? Why was he unable to move, to speak, if he was ready?

He looked down at what he was still holding. It was beautiful. It was old and fragile, and carefully wrapped and preserved. It was timeless, but still bore traces of time passing, a beautiful contradiction for a beautiful piece of art.

It was one thing to feel ready, Aziraphale realized, but another to gather the courage to do something about it. Even when the other offered such perfect opportunities to act. He hoped it wouldn’t take him another twenty years before making the next move.


	6. You Don't Fool Me

“I think they thought I was saying I was gay.”

There was a pause, the Them thinking.

“Well, nothing wrong with being gay, my uncle’s gay,” Wensleydale tried.

It was not the subject at hands, however, and Adam shook his head. Wensleydale didn’t add anything.

“So, it didn’t work…”

The Them had been planning and plotting for a few days, now. They had not yet grown bored of it, but it was only a matter of time before they would be frustrated and give up. They weren’t going to accomplish what both Aziraphale and Crowley were trying to do, but desperately failing on their own. Ever since the Them had brilliantly pretended that they hadn’t heard their teacher mumbling to himself, they were trying to help him. After Brian had given a very LGBT+-themed star-crossed lovers story, the two of them had not seemed to come any closer to getting together. It had been their last idea for a discreet approach.

“Operation Angel and Snake is back on track.”

“I’m still not sure about the name…” Brian tried, but sighed and abandoned the thought. He was good at names, but he never could be better than Adam, unless he would suggest something before, and Adam would take great inspiration from it. But he hadn’t thought of any cool name when they had decided.

“I’m thinking: we write a note, from the other, telling them to meet somewhere, and then we lock them in. They ought to talk,” Pepper shrugged, as if she hadn’t just suggested to lock two of their teachers in a room.

“We need a room… and keys.” Adam said reflectively, as if he hadn’t just answered to the suggestion that they lock two of their teachers in a room with a perfectly neutral and matter-of-factly face.

“We could use my mom’s crowbar. I’ve seen it in movies,” Brian added, as if he hadn’t offered to borrow a crowbar to lock two of their teachers in a room.

“But they already talk, don’t they? We need Snake to say what we heard him say.”

“What if we record him saying those stuff?” Pepper asked, pensive.

“Then we could lock them in, and play the record to both of them, and then they’d have to talk!” Adam finished, his face lighting up.

“How will they hear, if we’re not in the room too?”

“We put the phone on the floor,” Adam shrugged.

“How will we get Snake to confess again, then?”

“We’ll… ask him to rehearse his scene again?” Even Adam had no faith in his idea, but they had nothing better.

“It could work,” Pepper said, not convinced either, but at least it was better than the other ideas she had.

* * *

Unbeknown to the Them, Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t need excuses to spend all their time together. They simply needed more courage, and self-confidence, which were hard to come by, apparently.

Aziraphale was reading – when was he not? Crowley rarely saw him without a book in his hands. Since the first edition book incident, they hadn't talked. Well, not about that. Of course they had talked. They talked a lot. Not about this, though. Not about hands touching and lingering touches. Crowley was pretty sure it had been unintentional. Pretty sure Aziraphale had just been emotional. He still stared at him, sometimes. He was not, currently. Well, he had for a bit, then thought he'd get some work done as well, so he was doodling. He loved doodling. It wasn't letters – he wasn't a big fan of letters – but shapes. His right hand was on the table, holding his sheet still. The other was actively drawing.

It had started with random lines which he had drawn without much thinking, then it had become more and more like a plant. He loved drawing plants. Usually his own, or the ones he loved – but then again if he loved them, he probably had them. But this time he wasn't sure it existed. It did have familiar undertones, but his imagination had gone further than usual, and he hadn't stopped it.

He looked up from his drawing when Aziraphale moved. They were sitting face to face in Crowley's small table, and he didn't know why they never used the big one, but he liked being close to Aziraphale. Maybe he knew why, after all.

The man put his book down on the table to read, one hand holding the pages, the other rubbing his probably sore neck. Crowley wanted to tell him that he could move to the couch, for his own sake, but something prevented him from doing so. Aziraphale had moved again, without looking up from his book. Crowley could tell he wasn't doing much reading at the moment and wondered why. Then, he felt his hand. He instantly looked down.

Aziraphale innocently put his hand near Crowley's, and he felt the blood rushing to his head. They were not touching. But they were close. Oh, so close. Crowley could almost feel the hair on Aziraphale's hand, and it sent shivers down his spine. He focused on his sheet, his cheeks certainly not reddening.

He started drawing again, and Aziraphale seemed to be reading again. When he next had to turn a page, Crowley couldn't deny that he had purposefully put his hand here. He was struggling with turning the pages, when he could have easily moved his hand. So Crowley moved his own tentatively closer to his'. Fingers were touching, but they were not holding hands.

It took a few more pages for Aziraphale to make the next move. He shifted his arm a bit, their hands caressing as he did so, and Crowley had to stop tracing lines. Part of his arm settled on his book to hold half of it, so it was easier for him to read, and then he was softly caressing Crowley's back of hand.

His mind went bonkers. He'd never wanted to scream more than in this moment. He wanted to get up and dance. He wasn't going to, of course. But the scene was so heart-warming and touching, and he'd been craving it for so long that he didn't care about how mad he might sound.

He couldn't erase shit in such a position and his doodle was a bit of a mess, but he'd rather go to Hell than move that blessed right hand away from his angel's gentle touch.

And even in that moment, even while they were holding hands in silence, even with the warmth spreading across Crowley's chest, even with the desperate desire to kiss Aziraphale, to make him understand how much Crowley cared, even then, his mind would not let him down. _You go too fast for me_. If he wanted to hold him close and kiss him, Crowley couldn't. His words painfully echoed in his mind as a reminder that maybe Crowley was delusional. Maybe Aziraphale simply liked this. He had never done it, but suddenly he liked it.

Crowley wanted to take his glasses off and rub his eyes, to keep away the burning feeling in his head, behind his eyes, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go of Aziraphale's hand. He had waited too long for that. He couldn't even bring himself to move.

Crowley startled when he felt his sunglasses slide down his nose. The glasses didn't follow his movement and he found himself looking at Aziraphale, who was holding his glasses with a soft smile. A smile Crowley had seen a lot directed at him, but had never really identified. In that moment, without his glasses on and seeing the vulnerability in Aziraphale's eyes, he thought he understood the smile. He probably wore the same smile – but he would never admit to that. It was sweet and... loving.

“It's okay,” Aziraphale whispered. And just like that, it was okay. Because he had told him so.

“I know, angel,” the answer came naturally. He smiled, or tried to, then casted his eyes down. _You go too fast for me_. He just couldn't shake it. It was hovering over the two of them, and it had been hovering over Crowley's head since Aziraphale had said those words.


	7. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s breath on his face, and it took him all his will not to surge forward and kiss him. Most of the times, he easily fought the urge. It was easy to simply be with Aziraphale, he didn’t need to kiss him. Even if it meant they weren’t _together_ , they still were, in a way. But most of the times, Aziraphale wasn’t standing so close. Most of the times, Crowley wasn’t being stabbed in the back by the kitchen counter. Most of the times, Aziraphale wasn’t staring at Crowley’s lips with something that Crowley refused to identify as desire in his eyes. Most of the times, they hadn’t been holding hands in silence as soon as they could for the past couple of days.

Crowley couldn’t. He wanted to, but he didn’t want to push Aziraphale. He respected him too much for that, and he didn’t want to break his trust or respect. And he could still hear those words, that had guided some of his decisions regarding Aziraphale for years and years now. He wished he could just shake them off with the same certainty he now had when he held Aziraphale’s hand. _You go too fast for me, Crowley._

* * *

It was raining outside. Crowley remembered because he had looked at his plants and shrugged. He then had insisted that they grow better anyway, sun or not. Aziraphale joined him in the afternoon, initially to get some work done, but they always did that, and sometimes they liked to lay back and talk. On some occasions, drink even. But they were going to a party after, so they weren’t drinking yet. Aziraphale looked hesitant, as if he didn’t want to go to the party, so Crowley kept finding excuses not to go, or to wait a bit. He didn’t want Aziraphale to be uncomfortable, and he didn’t mind missing some party if it meant spending time with his friend.

His crush had been thoroughly examined and identified by then. He knew he cared for Aziraphale deeply, and he thought it was mutual. If not in a romantic or sexual way, then simply in a friendly way, which was already a lot. He wasn’t that used to people caring about him so purely.

“Shall we go?” Crowley was running out of excuses not to go to the party, so he thought he would just ask.

“Right. Yes.” Aziraphale fumbled with his hands for a bit, so Crowley waited. “Wait!”

“’S everything okay?”

“Yes. Brilliant. I just… I have something for you.”

Crowley looked around, expecting to find something that was out of place. He shrugged and looked at Aziraphale, who wasn’t moving. “Yeah?” What did he have? Was it his birthday? No, he didn’t think so.

“It’s…” Aziraphale was nervous, so nervous. It started to worry Crowley. He tried to talk again, but eventually just handed his very old music player.

“You finally bought a new one?”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, then his face softened as realisation hit him. He smiled, embarrassed, and rubbed his neck. Crowley thought he would melt on the spot. He didn’t. “Oh, sorry, no. What’s on it is what’s important. I mean… Well…”

“Did you go and make me playlist?” Crowley smiled.

He opened a metaphorical door to lighten the mood, and hopefully relax a very anxious Aziraphale.

“It’s more of… It’s nothing, really. You know how I’ve been reading, uh—books… Studying, I mean.” He closed his eyes, briefly, breathing in. “It’s just a recording of a book. So you can read, without… well, reading.”

The door Crowley had opened slammed right back at his nose. Aziraphale had—what? He must have made some glottal sound, because Aziraphale opened his mouth.

“It really isn’t anything, I had to read it anyway.”

Crowley raised a hand to his hair, because he didn’t know what else to bloody do or say. On its way back down, his hand automatically caught his sunglasses to take them off. He didn’t want to talk through this. Aziraphale had bared his soul by gathering up the courage to hand him this, and Crowley didn’t want to put that barrier up now. He didn’t need to.

“You… you’re the one reading?”

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He tried to add something, maybe an explanation, but didn’t.

When Aziraphale moved his hand, Crowley realized that he was still holding the music player, and that Crowley had not reacted in any other way than uncontrolled noises and taking off his glasses. The latter meant more than he could say, but maybe not for Aziraphale. He eventually almost launched himself into Aziraphale’s arms as he stepped closer to take the gift.

“I- uh- it’s—Thanks. Thank you.”

There were so many things he wanted to say, but no words seemed to be enough to express what he felt. He was more than simply grateful. Even more, he wasn’t grateful only for this, but also for the fact that Aziraphale was in his life, and had stayed in it, was still staying in it.

He couldn’t remember someone doing anything close to what Aziraphale had done, for him. How many hours had he spent on this? How many times had he started a sentence over? Why? Why would anyone do that for Crowley?

As Crowley tried to express what he was feeling – he wasn’t sure about his own feelings, though – only by staring deep into Aziraphale’s eyes, it unleashed something in him. He had known it, deeply, but the sensation hit him hard. His heart was beating faster in his chest, his cheeks tried to match the colour of his hair, he had to look away for a second, before remembering that he _wanted_ to bare his soul to Aziraphale. So he looked at him, with the now certitude that he cared for and loved the man facing him. It wasn’t just a crush. He had never used the word to express a feeling towards anyone, but at that moment, holding a music player that contained a recording of Aziraphale reading a book for him, only for him, because he had trouble reading, and looking right into his eyes, he realized he could love someone.

“You guys coming?”

Crowley’s hand snapped to his eyes as an automatic response to the intrusion. His glasses were back on his nose and he glared at Newton through them. He felt rather than saw Aziraphale, who couldn’t or wouldn’t look away from Crowley. He wanted to look back so badly, but not with Newton here.

“Sure,” he simply answered, and Newton was gone as quickly as he had arrived. He always had the worst timing ever, as opposed to Anathema, who always had the best timing.

Aziraphale had looked away when Newton had closed the door. Crowley didn’t put his glasses back down.

“Come on,” he eventually said, moving to the door.

He carefully put down the music player on his desk, and held the door for Aziraphale, ignoring the shivers that ran down his spine when he walked past him.

Crowley didn’t remember when it happened. Maybe it was during the whole evening. Maybe it had happened the moment Aziraphale had handed him his gift. Maybe it had always been there.

As often, their presence at the party consisted in them mostly hanging around each other, until finding a quiet spot to continue their usual conversations. The awkwardness that had followed Newton’s interruption was long forgotten, and they now were talking close to each other – because of the music, and certainly not for their fingers or shoulders to brush against the other’s. Crowley craved any touch by the fifth drink. Aziraphale seemed to think likewise.

It took a couple more drinks, and an even quieter space, for them to stand closer than they had ever been. The music wasn’t loud, but Crowley still found it necessary to lean even closer, to Aziraphale’s ear.

“I’m really thankful for what you did…” he whispered. It wasn’t quite what he had wanted to say, but it was a way to get back to the tension that had hovered in the room earlier, hopefully.

“It’s my pleasure. I hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he answered, getting just a bit closer when Aziraphale didn’t move back.

Crowley’s glasses were off again, he had tucked them away when he had been sure that no one could see his eyes. No one except Aziraphale.

And Aziraphale liked looking in his eyes. He did so intensely, and Crowley couldn’t look away. He put his hand up against the wall that was behind Aziraphale, and he stopped moving. He stopped breathing, too. For what felt like eternity, they talked with their eyes. For Crowley, he was thinking something along the lines of:

_“I can’t voice it, but it’s the most beautiful thing someone has made for me, and I’m glad that someone was you. Know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”_

And he hoped that Aziraphale could understand it. He hoped that he was saying “ _I like you too_ ” in response. He couldn’t be sure, though.

Aziraphale was the one to break the eye contact, looking down at Crowley’s lips. Time froze as he took a decision in half a second.

Even if he had been expecting it – had been waiting for it – Crowley’s eyes widened when Aziraphale suddenly surged forward for them to kiss. If the collision had been anything but sweet, the kiss itself was gentle. Both were testing the waters, fearing that the other would push them back. None did.

Eyes closed, Crowley let himself sink into the feeling. It felt exactly like the tea Aziraphale prepared him after an exam. He watched him do so, being so gentle, even in the way he served him, with that small, reassuring smile. Crowley felt safe, in those moments. He felt loved and cared for, and sometimes, he even let himself enjoy the feeling. He felt at home. Kissing Aziraphale felt like this.

He was being so careful, as if Crowley would break under his hands, or fade away. Crowley understood. He felt the exact same way. The feeling was too good to be real, there had to be a catch somewhere. But neither faded away, neither broke, neither pulled away.

They parted to breathe, but they didn’t even open their eyes before kissing again, hands going up to the other’s faces, to the other’s neck, to the other’s hair. Crowley let Aziraphale lead the dance. He had all the cards in his hands, and he was making the next move.

Aziraphale’s lips muffled Crowley’s grunt when he felt his back meeting the wall, as Aziraphale had reversed their position and pushed him against it. He didn’t complain, though.

What made Aziraphale pull back was the electricity of Crowley’s touch on his bare skin, once their hands had gotten tired of the clothes, and had moved under the useless layers. Crowley froze as he felt Aziraphale stiffen. He didn’t react much when he got pushed away and lost any physical contact with Aziraphale. Maybe he whined at the loss of the reassuring feeling of being at home.

Aziraphale stammered. A lot. Crowley was too distracted to listen to full sentences, anyway. There was a long silence. If Crowley could have, he would have put his glasses back on, but he was too afraid to move. He knew what was coming. Rejection, in some form. Right when he let his guards down, it had to happen…

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.” It was barely a whisper, but Crowley heard it well.

And it hurt. It hurt so much more than if Aziraphale had said that he didn’t like him back, after all. Because it didn’t say that. It said that he liked him, but that he wasn’t ready. Which was fine, it was perfectly fine not to be ready. Except that Crowley wasn’t sure what the correct pace was. At that moment, at that awful moment, Crowley realized that the end of the sentence was the most important part. He hadn’t done much towards anything relationship-y, a lot had come naturally between them, some from Aziraphale – and some from Crowley, of course – but it was enough for Aziraphale to think it was too fast, for _him_. Crowley was aware of Aziraphale’s conscience guiding him into missing out on some things, sometimes. It was fine, because they were futile. This wasn’t. Not because it involved Crowley, but because it involved Aziraphale’s view of himself. He wasn’t ready to love, despite all the love spilling out of his soul. And it was what hurt Crowley the most. The only barrier between them was Aziraphale’s own mind and fears.

And of course Crowley would respect his wish, because, who wouldn’t? It was Aziraphale’s choice, and it didn’t cross his mind to even think of refusing it, or getting mad because Aziraphale hadn’t come to terms with his own feelings. He would wait, if Aziraphale ever accepted this part of him. If not, he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else than him, anyway. Certainly not at that moment, standing against a wall – which he would later use to slide off to the ground – with Aziraphale looking apologetic. It was okay, really. He should have said that, instead of staying silent, and feeling the daggers stab his heart. It was okay, and he respected Aziraphale, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He almost called him back when Aziraphale left. He couldn’t muster the strength to do so.

Crowley spent the night and most of the next day listening to Aziraphale carefully and beautifully reading – interpreting – the book. When he next saw him, he decided to talk passionately about the book, and see if Aziraphale would mention or refer to their kisses. He never did, so Crowley pretended to have forgotten. He had never forgotten the feeling. He felt it every time their hands touched. He felt it so often around Aziraphale now, that he didn’t need to kiss him to find it again. He still wanted to. And it would mean that he wasn’t going too fast anymore. It would mean that Aziraphale was finally at peace with himself – if he still liked Crowley, of course.

* * *

Crowley didn’t push Aziraphale into doing anything. His lips twitched in a smile, that he wanted inviting, to tell Aziraphale that he was okay, that he was still ready, if he ever was in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, just some casual flashback, using that damn sentence which dug holes into our souls...  
> Thank you for your support on this fic!


	8. I'm in love with my car

Aziraphale watched as Crowley meticulously scanned through his cupboards.

“You know, we could just order something… I forgot to buy… stuff.”

“Again.”

“Yeah, again…” Crowley turned, looking very sorry. Aziraphale gestured it away. “I mean, I can find something.” And he was back at searching.

Aziraphale looked at him, wondering if it would be appropriate for him to walk to him and take his hand, or rub his tensed shoulders. He wasn’t sure what was okay, and where lay the limit. They had held hands a few more times, and it had always felt great. But they hadn’t really talked about it. It was yet another habit they were taking: the other didn’t object, so they were starting to do it more and more. They had to talk about it, at some point. Aziraphale wanted to talk about it, because he wanted Crowley to know that he was fine with it. That he was fine with more, if Crowley wanted. He wasn’t going too fast anymore. He had to tell him that. He had to come clean about his feelings.

He walked closer to Crowley, but didn’t know what else to do. When Crowley turned, he let out a small yelp.

“You okay?”

Aziraphale swallowed, mentally preparing himself to put his feelings out, and maybe be rejected. He hoped he wouldn’t, but who in their right mind confessed their love without doubting the outcome?

Nothing happened. Crowley asked what was wrong. Aziraphale took a deep breath. Crowley was so close, and he had all his attention.

_Say_ something. _Do_ something! His heart was pounding in his chest. Crowley was staring at him with a small smile, and it was the perfect occasion. He also looked torn up inside, as if he was deciding something, so Aziraphale took a leap of faith. The second big one in such a short amount of time.

“I bought a new car!” he blurted out. Not quite the declaration he had in mind, but still something.

To Crowley’s credits, he didn’t flinch. He stiffened, but he didn’t move away. “Huh? You did? When? You didn’t ask for my help?”

“I—no. I meant… It’s faster than before. It’s… _faster_.” That ought to do it. It was a bit of a stretch, but Crowley would understand. _Surely,_ he would.

He didn’t.

“What are you talking about? Wasn’t your old one enough? We live in London, we don’t need to go that fast… I’m not sure—”

“Crowley…”

“I’m just not sure it was the best choice.” Crowley didn’t stop.

“For fuck’s sake, Crowley,” Aziraphale eventually said.

Crowley blinked. Aziraphale blinked. Aziraphale didn’t swear much in his life. It just didn’t happen.

Crowley was about to say something and was starting to pull back from his position – which wasn’t an easy job as he was nearly propped on the kitchen counter – so Aziraphale moved on to the next part of his brilliant plan.

He grabbed Crowley by the collar and pulled him towards him.

He didn’t know if it was the kiss, or the fact that he was finally letting his feelings act – that he was finally giving in the most burning desire he’d ever had – but he felt his shoulders becoming lighter. Aziraphale kept his eyes shut at first. Crowley was stiff, but he could feel it was from surprise, not because he refused his touch. He had seen it in his eyes. His eyes.

Aziraphale opened his own, focusing on Crowley’s right eye. It was beautiful from up-close. Not only from up-close, but it was different. Aziraphale was the only one that could look at it from that close. It shook Crowley up, to be stared at, and he instantly closed his eyes, deepening the kiss. Aziraphale closed his own eyes again.

When Aziraphale raised his hand to stroke Crowley’s cheek, the latter pulled back from the kiss, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You…” Crowley’s jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, through his nose. “You’re not going to run off, are you?” He sounded hesitant, but it seemed vital for him to ask this question.

Aziraphale instantly felt sorry for never having mentioned the first night they’d kissed, especially as it seemed to still be bothering Crowley.

He smiled, looking deep into Crowley’s eyes. He caressed his cheek with his thumb, then brushed his hair behind his ear. Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale ran his hand through his hair, getting addicted to it by the minute.

“Do you… remember?” Crowley eventually asked.

“Yes. So do you.”

“Yeah, well, I…”

“I’m sorry I never—”

“No,” Crowley cut him off. He opened his eyes again, shaking his head. He stopped only to lean against Aziraphale’s hand. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Aziraphale nodded and smiled. Crowley finally leaned for another kiss, his own hands finding refuge in Aziraphale’s curls.

They kissed and smiled, until Crowley kissed his way to Aziraphale’s ear, to finally kiss his hair, taking in a deep breath. They hugged in silence for a moment, then Crowley pulled back a bit.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop smiling, and he smoothed Crowley’s shirt as the man was staring at him.

“So, you didn’t really buy a new car, did you?” Aziraphale shook his head, scoffing. “Just making sure!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but hid his exasperation in Crowley’s neck. It felt comfortable, to be able to lean against him, with the new-found certitude that he would be there to catch him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, I finally shoved their heads together for you! It was supposed to be way more serious than this, but nothing seemed to be enough to mirror "You go too fast for me, Crowley" so instead I went for very light and funny get-together, because, honestly, they're cute idiots.


	9. Somebody to Love

It didn’t change much, to walk as a couple, or as friends. They didn’t find that much at all had changed, to be honest. Except that now, Aziraphale slept in a bed, not on the couch. He still woke up in the middle of the night, though. He would look around for a second, then focus on Crowley, who was either sprawled all over him, or curled up in a ball on the opposite side of the bed. Always one or the other. Aziraphale would smile, kiss his shoulder, or his cheek, or his hair, or anything that he could kiss, and close his eyes again.

That was a nice change.

They didn’t hesitate to hold hands, either. Aziraphale loved the way their hands locked into place together. Crowley liked when their fingers intertwined, while Aziraphale liked it better when Crowley would simply cup his hand. It felt so simple, but so heart-warming. Aziraphale was quite fond of how Crowley would sometimes do it without even noticing it, too.

One thing that had greatly changed was the amount of time Crowley spent without his glasses on. It was as if he felt safer, and Aziraphale loved to think that it was for this reason. Because it meant that he felt good with him. He would still wear them often, of course, and never took them off when they were outside, but that was a barrier he didn’t need to put up when he was alone with Aziraphale anymore – sometimes, he kept them out of habit but he didn’t protest if Aziraphale expressed the desire to see his eyes.

And, apparently, another change to their dynamic, was Crowley now leaving messages to Aziraphale. He found a paper with an hour and a classroom printed on it. He looked around for Crowley, but shrugged and decided to head for the classroom, as the meeting hour was coming, and his day was over, so he didn’t have anything else to do but go home.

He didn’t have to wait long in the empty room before he heard a noise, followed by a swear. Crowley had tried to pull the door instead of pushing it, when every door in the whole place had to be pushed, and he had been pushing his classroom door since the beginning – or so Aziraphale hoped – and Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle when Crowley entered, looking back menacingly at the door, then glaring at his partner.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale all but apologized, his smile strongly suggesting that he was not, in fact, sorry.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. What did you want to see me for?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to return the question, confused, but they both looked at the door as they heard it click. There was a metallic sound, laughs and whispers.

“We just locked the room, we don’t need the crowbar anymore!”

“Just in case.”

“Shht, guys!”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, frowning when they both identified the students.

“Adam?” Crowley asked, his voice slightly raising.

“No?” a very Adam-like modified voice answered.

“We know it’s you,” Crowley continued, stepping closer to the door. He tried to open it – in the right direction, this time – but it was locked, as the group had stated. “Open the door.”

“Someone needs to talk about the play they’re rehearsing,” a very Pepper-like voice, but deeper, said. Then there were giggles and the sound of kids running away.

“Pepper! Adam!” Crowley banged on the door to try to call them back, but it was of no use. They were gone, with the key. “Oh they’re going to hear about that.”

“What are they talking about?” Aziraphale asked, as he was taking his keys out of his pocket.

He thought the students had realized that the same key could open a whole floor’s doors. Since his classroom was on this floor, it was a very short-lived plan that he was ruining. He inserted the key but waited for Crowley’s response.

“Ngk… Nothing. They just locked us in a room, they don’t make any sense!” Aziraphale frowned but chose to shrug the conversation away. The Them could be special kids, when they wanted to be. “Wait!” Crowley quickly said as Aziraphale was about to open the door.

“Yes, dear?”

He half-turned to look at Crowley, who was stepping closer to him, looking into his eyes with a desire that did not belong in their workplace. It took Crowley a couple more seconds to gather enough braincells to move again, after losing himself in Aziraphale’s eyes. He gently pecked his lips and his cheek, then winked.

Aziraphale blinked, letting Crowley smile smugly and brush past him as he sauntered out the room. The way a simple kiss could make Aziraphale melt on the spot should bother him more than it did. But it was Crowley, so it didn’t bother him. It only brought a smile to his face.

“What punishment would be suited, you think?” Crowley asked as they arrived near his precious car. He put his elbows up on Aziraphale’s door which he had opened for him. “Back to mine?” he asked casually.

They didn’t have a regular schedule of where they spent the night, they often decided randomly, or found themselves at a flat of the other.

“Yours sounds nice, as long as you have some edible food,” Aziraphale teased, standing near the door, but not going in yet. “As for them… Do we really need to punish them? Technically, they didn’t do much, we had a key.”

“They didn’t know we had one,” Crowley frowned. “You’re not suggesting we let them go easy?”

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m asking you. Please, don’t? They’re young, it’s more efficient if we don’t acknowledge this, for sure. It avoids them the pride of it affecting your mood so obviously.”

It wasn’t the best argument ever, but Aziraphale didn’t want to have to punish the Them. Of course, they shouldn’t have done that, but nobody had been hurt, and they hadn’t wasted much time. And maybe Aziraphale was soft. He sure didn’t like punishments, they were inefficient in his opinion. Crowley seemed to consider it for a while, then sighed.

“’Ssupose you’re right. Get in, angel,” he added, gesturing to the car seat.

Before Aziraphale could move, satisfied, Crowley however leaned in, almost automatically, to press a kiss to his lips. He caught himself after a few seconds and dashed for the driver’s side of the car. As Aziraphale got in, grinning, he noticed Crowley’s lovely cheek colour, but said nothing. Maybe he took a bit of pride in making Crowley forget himself a bit, and already developing reflexes such as this one. Even if it meant that Crowley was driving even faster than usual, just to show that he was still in control of something – of course he was!

The Them watched the car disappear quickly from their sight and cheered almost instantly.

“It worked!” Brian cried happily.

They high-fived a bit messily, satisfaction filling them as they thought that they had just accomplished Cupid’s work for the day. Getting the janitor to give them a key hadn’t been an easy job, but it had been worth it. And they had fooled their teachers so easily, with the fake voices and all! It always felt satisfying, to come up with a plan that worked, especially if it made other people happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's a wrap! Thank you for all your comments and support & for following me into this fun adventure :D Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did ;)


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